


And So It Begins

by Jenshih_Blue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Historical, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-21
Updated: 2012-10-21
Packaged: 2017-11-16 18:33:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/542561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenshih_Blue/pseuds/Jenshih_Blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1835 a hunter comes seeking a way to avenge those he loved only to discover along the way something far greater. Over a century and a half later blood calls to blood in a moment of crisis. Entangled within the same tale another man discovers his fate, the power of faith, and the truth behind the mysterious stranger who came calling one stormy night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And So It Begins

**Author's Note:**

> This story was originally written and posted to Live Journal May 31, 2006. It has been reedited and some content changed for posting here on October 21, 2012. Enjoy and let me know what you think.

They say Samuel Colt made a gun—a special gun.

He made it for a hunter, like us, only on horseback.

 

 _Dead Man’s Blood_ ~ John Winchester

 

 

***

 

3rd November 1835

Standing on the hillside the man looked down at the house far below, eyes dark with pain and wondered if he would ever see his family again. His brother was a man of class and wealth, a man who didn’t believe in what he knew to be true. He was also a man in love, one who had been getting ready to wed a beautiful woman and start a family. So when his brother, the man he considered his best friend, had told him that he needed help, that there was no such thing as demons, he’d walked away from the family he’d cherished for all of his twenty-two years.

That had been three years ago.

He would never forget witnessing the death of his wife and child. Those flames had consumed his entire reason for living and still they followed him, echoes flickering behind closed lids when he dared to sleep. Those same echoes were the reason he stood here now, seeking out a man he’d discovered from inquiries who knew things others might deny. He knew of the darkness lurking at the edge of humanity’s vision.

One gloved hand reached up to stroke his horse’s muzzle, fingers lingering on the white starburst between the stallion’s huge dark eyes. In the distance, lightning lit up the night sky and he felt the vibrations of thunder beneath his booted feet before he heard its rumble. The stallion whinnied and he smiled, stroking the horse’s muzzle.

"Easy, boy, just a storm." dust rose as the stallion’s hooves pawed at the ground in reply, head shifting beneath his gentle touch with a soft neigh. Smile widening, he stepped around and patted the horse’s flank. "I think we found the man we’ve been searching for."

Sliding one boot in the stirrup, he pulled up, leg swinging over and shifted in the saddle. Grasping the reins, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and the stallion moved forward cautiously making its way down the steep incline into the valley below. The storm was moving in with a terrifying speed across the dark sky as the lone rider made his way down to the place he hoped held the answers he sought. As he rode, the lightning tore open the sky once more, light catching and causing the pendant around his neck to sparkle.

A loving gift of protection, from his now deceased wife, the silver pentagram never left his neck.

 

***

 

Despite the storm, the blacksmith continued working in his shop. Unseasonably warm weather for the past few weeks made it far more comfortable to work in the chill of the night. Though the storms came every night, wind rising and blowing away the suffocating heat of the day, not a drop of rain fell. He’d been having dreams for the past two weeks, dreams of fire and blood, of a man tall and slender dressed in a long dark coat, face hidden by a hat pulled low on his brow.

After, the first few nights he’d went to see the old woman Ophelia who lived at the edge of town in a shanty. She was a freed slave, her master back in Kansas had passed, and his dying wish was to give his slaves freedom. Ophelia had been the one to approach him the first time. She’d taken his hand in hers, startling him with the expression in her dark eyes. He still could hear her words, words that said everything and nothing all in the same raspy breath.

_"You know the darkness and it knows you."_

From that moment forward, he and Ophelia had become allies in a manner of speaking. When he’d come to her about the dreams she’d smiled that knowing smile most of the town feared. Her weathered face creased even more as she had taken his hand, head cocking to the side like a bird, and she nodded. He knew she heard the voices of the dead whispering and if they were speaking now it meant something had disturbed them about his dreams as well.

_"Hunter’s coming…seeking you out. He’s looking for a way to end him."_

_"Who?"_

_"Oh, he’s got no name. Least no name man knows. Name’s lost in the shadows."_

_"What of the fire and blood?"_

_"Took the hunter’s wife and child sent her right to heaven, but now that there child was special. Touched by the spirits and he senses them children like that. Takes ‘em so his own can come to earth. He uses ‘em up and then tosses ‘em away like so much garbage."_

_"What’s this hunter want from me?"_

_"Already told you now didn’t I, child? He’s looking for a way to end the nameless one’s existence. Knows about your gifts, knows you believe, and he wants you to cast a weapon for him."_

Lifting his heat burnt face, ears pricked, his thoughts drifted from Ophelia’s words to the present and he heard the wind whistle through the cracks between the boards. Tonight was the night, he thought as he sat aside his hammer and crossed the hard packed dirt. Picking up the lantern hanging inside the door, he pushed the door open, and stepped into the rising storm. In the distance, he heard the faint whinny of a horse as he lifted the lantern, flame flickering, and searched the darkness.

His first glimpse of the man might have caused others to tremble, but he wasn’t like others.

He rode a huge black stallion, white starburst emblazoned between its dark eyes. The stranger sat straight and tall in the saddle, tails of his long dark coat whipping in the wind, and hat pulled down low to shadow his face. Yet in the flickering light of lantern he could see his eyes, dark and filled with harshness that only came with loss. The man slid graceful from the horse, booted feet stirring up dust as his weight came to rest on the ground.

Stepping closer the smith narrowed his eyes. "What’s a man doin’ out on a night like this? Nights like this ain’t fit for man or beast."

The stranger smiled, teeth bright white against sun-leathered skin, and he caught a glimpse of dimples beneath days of scruff and road dust, "Looking for answers."

They sized each other up for a moment and then the smith held one work-roughened hand out in greeting. "Samuel Colt. What kind of answers you looking for stranger?"

"Samuel’s a good name…strong name." He turned his head, spit on the ground, and then glanced up from beneath long shaggy hair. "I need to know if you can make me a gun? I hear tell you’re the best at what you do."

"So I’ve been told." Samuel grinned. "Course I’m thinkin’ you’re looking for more than a simple gun. You’re looking for something special."

Quirking a brow the stranger pursed his lips. "You’d be thinkin’ right."

 

***

 

It took him one night and it was as if he’d become a tool, rather than a creator. He felt an energy thrum through him as the storm raged outside. As he worked, the stranger sat inside the door, silent guard, rifle resting over muscled thighs, and dark eyes watching every move Samuel made.

Samuel Colt believed in fate, always had, but this was fate personified. He worked with steady hands, nothing diverting his attention, and if he concentrated a bit he could have sworn he heard voices on the storm’s currents. Voices that praised the light of God and cursed the darkness of evil, voices unlike any he’d ever heard before. They spoke to his heart and soul, guided his hands, and he wondered if the stranger heard them as well.

As he stirred up the fire, it caught and sparked off the pendant around the stranger’s neck, nestled against the rough material of his shirt. The voices whispered in his ear and he smiled as he nodded in silent understanding. A mark of protection, the only thing that had saved the stranger’s life, they whispered, a gift of a love so pure it shone bright and guided the man’s aim.

Ophelia had called him a hunter.

This man, Samuel questioned the voices in silence; this gun, it’s my fate—isn’t it?

Their only reply warmth that infused his body and a feeling of utter selfless love.

 

***

 

It was in the wee hours of the morning he mixed the ingredients for the casting of the bullets. The molten metal reflecting against his perspiration soaked face. Beyond the door the storm began to quiet and the stillness possessed a sound all its own. There was an electrical hum in the very air and he could taste ozone on the back of his tongue as he poured the metal mixture into the mold with care—thirteen bullets.

A number that some considered unlucky, but it held a power only those who understood the darkness could see. Samuel imagined the man who sat watching him understood that power and knew the truth most would deny. A storm was brewing, evil walked the earth, and with each passing year, its claws dug deeper into humanity.

As the bullets cooled, one by one, he popped open the mold and each one slipped out with an ease that didn’t always happen. With steady hands, he engraved each with a number as the stranger had requested. He knew there was a purpose for everything and never doubted the voices speaking to him. To doubt was to lose faith and faith was the one thing Samuel Colt had in abundance. It was faith he’d infused in every part of this one of a kind weapon that would one day destroy the darkness that had stolen away the other man’s family.

As he finished the bullets, he turned to the storage closet and reached up on the top shelf, retrieving something he’d made years ago. Something he’d wondered about often. He blew the collected dust off the wooden case and opened it. The fact the gun fit perfectly didn’t shock him in the least, nor did the fact that there were exactly thirteen cradles for each of the thirteen bullets.

God worked in mysterious ways and who was he to question God.

 

***

 

As the sun rose in the east, the sky seeming to melt into a river of smudged blues, roses, and shades of gold Samuel handed the stranger the case with a faint smile. "This should serve you well. Voices of angels guided my hand this past night."

Opening the case the man traced one leather-clad finger along the blue sheen of oiled metal. He traced the words engraved in script along the slender length of the barrel and glanced up with eyes the color of worn moss, flecks of gold glittering around the dark pupils that contracted in the morning light as it brightened. For the first time Samuel realized how young the man was—not much more than a boy to be honest—although his eyes held the edge of a hardened killer.

"How old were you?" He questioned.

"When?" he closed the case and walked to where his stallion waited.

Samuel cocked his head and studied the younger man as he slipped the case into his saddlebag. "When the darkness came and snatched your wife and child." He could see the boy suck in a deep breath.

"Twenty-two." his voice cracked as his back stiffened fighting against some internal demon Samuel couldn’t see. "We’d been married for almost two years…her name was Caroline and my daughter’s was Mary."

Nodding Samuel reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a rosary, "Son?"

The young hunter turned and met Samuel’s gaze, eyes shining with unshed tears. "What?"

He grasped his hand and folded the rosary into his palm. "May God and his angel’s watch over you and guide your aim."

With a faint smile, dimples visible for a moment, he nodded, clenching his fist around the dark beads and mounted his horse. As Samuel Colt watched the hunter rode away, shoulders broad and strong, fueled by the need to destroy the darkness. How long he stood there he wasn’t sure, but he didn’t move until the hunter vanished over the horizon. It was as the last glimpse of the man faded away something occurred to Samuel Colt.

He had never asked the young man his name.

 

***

 

3rd May 1850

 

Years later when he was manufacturing guns back in New England Samuel Colt met a man who would become a fellow manufacturer, Oliver Winchester. It was at one of those pretentious parties Samuel detested, but he knew was necessary to the growth of his business. The hostess, who had been clinging to his arm and introducing him to every wealthy financier as the most brilliant manufacturer in the east, had spotted someone across the lavish ballroom.

"Oh, Samuel darling you must really meet one of our brightest stars."

She continued speaking though half the words she spoke Samuel ignored. He allowed himself to be escorted to where a man stood speaking with a small circle of friends.

"Oliver, dear I have someone I do believe you must meet. Samuel Colt may I introduce to you Oliver Winchester. He’s quite enamored of the idea of getting into the manufacturing business."

When the man turned, Samuel Colt frowned. "Have we met, sir?"

Oliver glanced at Samuel and shook his head. "Not that I can recall."

"Maybe…" he searched his memory for the face that seemed so familiar and the young hunter all those years ago came to mind, "Do you have a brother?"

A sad glint shown in Oliver’s eyes, "Yes, I did…a twin brother. Not an identical twin brother, though I’ve been told we were quite the dashing pair when we were younger."

"You said…did? Do you mind if I ask when he passed?"

"We…that is my family and I are unsure to be truthful, dear man. He was still quite young when he left New England. You see he lost his wife and child in a devastating house fire." Oliver sighed. "He never was quite right after that. He packed and headed west shortly before I married my lovely wife Jane. That was…well damn…that was nearly fifteen years ago. We’ve not heard from him since. Did you perhaps see him out west?"

Samuel nodded. "Yes, I do believe I might have, but it’s been so long ago I couldn’t say for certain. I never did get his name. Perhaps it wasn’t even him."

With a tinge of disappointment, Oliver sighed again. "I had hoped perhaps one day he would return to us, but after such a long length of time…" his words trailed off.

"May I ask another question if it’s not too much? After all I had no desire to uncover painful memories."

Oliver smiled. "Not at all Mr. Colt…I loved my brother and even the thought that perhaps somewhere out there he still lives brings lightness to my aging heart."

"What was your brother’s name?"

"Why it was the same as yours, dear fellow."

"Mine?" Samuel quirked a gray speckled brow.

"Yes. His full name was Samuel John Winchester."

Samuel Colt chuckled causing Oliver to frown, the frown deepening as he spoke. "Samuel’s a good name…strong name."

 

***

 

November 3rd 2006

 

He’d followed them their entire lives, a faint spirit of the past who’d chose to look out for his family over the decades since his death. He’d been witness to the birth of daughters and sons, marriages, deaths, and still he lingered, watching. He drifted around the mangled wreck of the car gaze traveling from each face to the next. All of the prosperity had been born from one small child, a child he’d hidden from the eyes of the demonic bastard who had killed his wife and daughter.

For twenty years, he’d fought the good fight, sought out the demon, but he’d never imagined he would ever love again. He had though. At the age of forty-five when he’d began to feel the ache of his bones, he’d been saved and nursed back to health by a young beauty who had been the daughter of a Dakota warrior and a French fur trader’s daughter. She had dark silky hair, the palest blue green eyes he’d ever seen, and a dusting of freckles across her nose.

Her name had been Isabel Marie or Little Cougar as her father called her.

For six months, he’d lived with Isabel and her aging father in a cabin at the edge of the plains in the shadow of the magnificent Rockies. In those six months he’d found himself falling in love although he’d never imagined it possible. After his time with them, he’d left to continue his search with a promise to return which he did, a year and a half later to discover that he had a son waiting for him. Isabel had chosen to wait for his return so he could name his son, which he did.

Jonathan Dean Winchester shortened to J.D., which his mother eventually called him.

It was then Samuel Winchester had decided to hang up his spurs. The need for vengeance had not been the most important thing any longer—his son was. He’d done what he had to do to hide the boy from the demon, but as he reached his second birthday, the demon seemed to vanish from existence.

Samuel Winchester counted his blessings.

On his deathbed, he’d sworn he would forever watch over and guide his family. God had granted his wish and he’d been there for generations doing just that. He’d been there the day the youngest of John and Mary Winchester’s sons had been born. From the moment he saw the boy he’d known the tiny infant was special. For the first time in over a hundred and fifty years, the gift had been placed within a Winchester child, Samuel, his namesake he liked to think and the son who looked the most as he had when he had walked the earth. He feared for the boy. Those fears weren't unfounded. Had it not been for his interference Sam’s mother would have never realized the shadowy figure in the nursery was not her husband.

He regretted Mary’s death for she had been a hunter like him born from a family of hunters. The fact Sam had been spared made his heart sing though. Besides, Mary had told him she didn’t regret sacrificing herself to protect Sam. What she regretted was not being able to witness both her boys grow to men nor to tell her beloved husband how much she loved him one last time.

With a faint sigh, he drifted closer to the car ethereal fingers grazing his great grandson’s temple, and he leaned in whispering in his ear.

_Samuel wake up, your father and brother need you._

A groan escaped Sam and Samuel smiled as he turned away. His gaze drifted to the rising sun and his laughter rang out.

_Take that you fiery son of a bitch. The Winchesters are stronger than you think._

 

***

 

As Sam slowly drifted upward from the red haze of unconsciousness, he could have sworn he saw a figure. He blinked against the bright light of the semi-truck headlights and though he’d done so the figure remained. A man tall and broad shouldered, shaggy hair, long dark coat, and hat tugged down low on his brow. The brim of the hat hid his face, but Sam caught a glimpse of a dimple and a flash of a wide smile.

As he fought to pull himself further from the darkness, he heard a voice rough with disuse, carried to him on the chill morning breeze.

_One bullet left. Do my name proud, Sam…our name proud…_

As his vision cleared, the figure faded away into the drifting mist that rose from the tall frost-laced November grass.

 

~Finis~

**Author's Note:**

> So for anyone who cares I’ve compiled a few notes here pertaining to my strange little bunny that decided to hop on my brain late in the night. Depending on the reaction to this story I may or may not expand, but I just thought it would be perfect little thread to explore.
> 
> Oliver Fisher Winchester was the man who would become famous for the Winchester Repeating Rifle. He was born in 1810 and he did have a twin brother according to the book ‘Historic Haunted America’ written by Michael Norman and Beth Scott. Despite my best efforts I couldn’t locate any information on his brother, not even a name. Oliver did marry Jane Ellen Hope in 1834 and from that marriage one son was born William W. Winchester. William went on to marry Sarah who upon his death in 1881 was so devastated she became involved with a spiritualist. Thus the legendary Winchester Mystery House was born in San Jose, California.
> 
> I can’t say if Oliver Winchester ever met Samuel Colt, but being as they were eventually in the same business and both were in New England it is possible they knew one another. Especially if they moved in the same social circles. The year I used (1850) for their meeting is seven years prior to Oliver Winchester becoming the principal share holder in Volcanic Repeating Arms. His first foray into the arm’s industry.
> 
> Another interesting tidbit for your pleasure. While I rooted about looking for information on-line I discovered that both the names John and Samuel are repetitive in the Winchester family line. Thus since I couldn’t discover the name of Oliver’s twin brother I chose to name him Samuel Winchester and his son Jonathan Dean to tie this bunny into canon. Hope you enjoyed!


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